I hate Pink Floyd's Another Brick in the Wall - not because non-Brits put on a ludicrous English accent while singing along to it or that it has become a cliche. The song darkens my mood because it reminds me of the vertical structure in the middle of my floor.
It all started when I was waiting to hear whether my termite-damaged home was worth renovating. I saw little reason for work to continue before an engineer had checked it. But there was no telling my contractor, Joe, who was determined to build a wall during the lull.
'What if the house can't be saved and I have to sell and move out?' I protested.
'She'll be right,' came the assurance. 'Your beams are made of pine and there are many mountains.'
As anyone who has tried to speak Cantonese will know, it's at critical junctures that you discover how little you understand.
'My beams are pine?' I gasped. 'Like Ikea furniture?'